


From My Veins to Yours

by Minirose96



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Biting, Blood Drinking, F/M, I have only a minimal idea right now, Might have sexi times later, Vamplock, Will edit tags in accordance for where I decide to take this, yup o_o
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 06:49:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2642162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minirose96/pseuds/Minirose96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was impossible. But as Molly once again reexamined the throbbing scabs on her neck, there really was no mistaking it. Especially not after Sherlock's display.</p><p>Dark Red eyes instead of cool blue. Reflexes that were impossible for any human to match. But Sherlock wasn't human.</p><p>Still, the word came hesitantly to Molly's tongue. So Sherlock said it for her.</p><p>"Vampire."</p>
            </blockquote>





	From My Veins to Yours

"Sherlock?" That single word, gasped under her breath, was the only thing she managed before he lifted his gaze – no longer the deep ever-changing blue and instead a deep blood red, his pupils barely pinpricks in his irises. The moment his eyes locked with hers, her head began to swim, her vision to blur.

Molly began to fall, but she didn't hit the ground. Sherlock caught her, though before he was clear across the spacious room. Before she could begin to wonder how, she felt a deep cutting pain on the side of her neck, and her vision went black.

… … … … … … …

So hungry.

For the last three days, Sherlock had been ignoring his base instincts. He had a case, he couldn't allow himself to succumb to the lethargy that feeding left him in. When he was hungry, his instincts primed for the hunt, the attack, he solved the cases. It was how he worked. How he had always worked.

But this one was trickier than usual. He'd misjudged the days. He just needed a little more time, and then he could feed. Just one more test, one more result, and he would confirm his theory.

All it would have taken is five more minutes of blissful alone time. He hadn't even told Molly he was coming to the lab. She was too tempting. He'd nearly leapt on her the day before, as she had her hands elbow deep in the victim, once more going over her results. Only years of self-control had stopped him.

He drummed his fingers impatiently on the metal counter top as he waited for the machine to spit out the results.

The door creaked behind him. A sweet, intoxicating scent filled the air, the rhythmic fluttering of a heart beat was a symphony that resonated through the room.

He knew that scent, knew that heart beat.

He turned to face her, prepared to snap at her to leave him be – to chase her away with a few quick, harsh words.

Until she gasped.

His eyes.  _Damn!_

He knew they must be red.

He heard her heart beat increase.

He felt his fangs elongate, saw her begin to tip towards the ground. Never meet a vampire's red gaze.

He caught her with ease. Too close.

He could feel her pulse through her skin, see it jumping under the supple skin of her throat. His teeth ached.

He sank into the flesh of her neck and felt the give as flesh was severed and blood flowed from the wound he'd made. A shiver of pleasure coursed through him as he felt Molly go limp in his arms.

Her blood was his nectar, and as he drank there was nothing but his need for it and the sound of her heart beating as it pumped more of it from her and into him.

He listened to her heart slow, a drum losing tempo.

It was a miracle that made him stop. A miracle, and the memory of her last word.

"Sherlock."

He could feel her blood coating his lips and trailing down his chin as he pulled away, sated.

He could still hear her heart, so he did not worry that he had taken too much. It still beat strong in her chest, if much faster than it should have. The blood had already stopped flowing from the wound, the coagulant in his saliva already doing its duty.

Tests forgotten, Sherlock picked her up bridal style and walked her from the building, a shadow pulled over them. No one's eyes would linger as they passed, and pass they did, Molly's unconscious form draped in Sherlock's arms as he carried her home.

… … … … … … …

Molly awoke with a jolt, only to have her swimming head cause to fall back into a laying position with a groan. She took several deep breaths before attempting to sit up again.

Home. She was home, lying in her bed. The blankets had been pulled snugly over her, as though she'd been tucked in meticulously.

Nothing seemed out of place, though something just felt… off.

Slowly, she shifted until her legs fell off the side of the bed, and the pads of the feet touched the soft carpet that made up the floor of her bedroom. A wave of dizziness overcame her, and for several moments it was all she could do to hold onto the bedpost and pray the room stopped shifting.

Carefully, she pushed away from the bed and went into the nearby master bathroom attached to her bedroom. It was quaint, but she really didn't need much space. Right now, she was thankful for the small setting, since it kept something to lean onto within reach, whether it was the wall, countertop, or towel rack.

She felt for and flicked on the light switch, and her eyelids narrowed to slits as her eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness.

She all but stumbled into the counter, her hand fumbling for the faucet. She splashed her face several times with cold water, and reached for a hand towel to dry herself off after letting the water wake her fully.

She looked up and froze.

Messy, crusted over lacerations decorated the side of her neck. They looked several days old, painful. A dull ache that she hadn't felt previously emitted from the area, traveling down much of her shoulder and chest as she brought a hand up to touch the rough scabs that covered the damage.

"Don't touch."

Molly's hand froze just above the injury.

She caught sight of him in the mirror, though she was certain he hadn't been there seconds before. His voice, usually deep, and almost detached, resonated like velvet against her skin. She couldn't have moved her hand if she wanted to, though she didn't realize that until later.

Sherlock stepped up behind her, and pushed aside the hair that draped across her neck, partially covering the mark.

"How much do you remember?"

Molly blinked, just once, as his words settled. Suddenly, the picture of him, his eyes glowing red, his teeth digging into her neck, returned, and she let out a gasp.

Though she wanted to step away, her legs didn't allow her to move.

For the second time, her traitorous body grew dizzy and for the second time she collapsed into his arms.

The arms of a monster.

… … … … … … …

When Molly woke up the next time, all of her memories were still her own, and she was back in her bed, once more tucked under the covers. She felt something stiff against her neck.

"I said not to touch."

Molly's hand froze over the thing on her neck as a glass appeared in her view, presented by a pale hand.

"It's just juice, to assist with the reproduction of blood sugar. It's from your fridge."

Hesitantly, she took the glass, and gave it a sniff. Orange juice. She had a carton in her fridge.

Sherlock gave an impatient sigh. "Molly, had I wanted to harm you, I wouldn't bother with poisoning you. Just drink it."

That was hardly encouraging, but Molly saw the logic in it, even as her heart raced in her chest.

She drained the glass in a few long gulps before finally turning to face him.

She was silent as she looked him over for any signs of what he was. A term came to mind, but it seemed so utterly ridiculous. Sherlock couldn't possibly be a –

"Yes, vampire, Molly. At least, it's the term you would be most comfortable with."

She stiffened, her back rigid. "How – "

"I can't read your mind. It's just obvious."

"Oh." Molly lowered her gaze.

Sherlock leaned forward, hovering over her. She felt small, like a mouse trapped by a cat in a game before the final kill.

A shiver ran down her spine.

She swallowed heavily. "What are you going to do to me?"

She flinched away as she saw his hand come up under her chin, but he raised her gaze up anyway, until she was looking directly into his eyes once more. They were their usual beautiful, chilling blue.

"I cannot allow your knowledge to go unchecked, Molly." He spoke almost regretfully.

Surely he could feel her trembling. Molly gripped the comforter of her bed in her hands to stop them from shaking.

"Can I see them?" The question came out almost without her wanting it to, and she felt her cheeks flush.

Sherlock arched his brow. "Another time, perhaps." His brow dropped, as did the small amount of amusement that had entered his expression at her question. "Will you tell no one?"

Who could she tell? Who would believe her? Would she want to anyway?

"No."

Before the answer even left her lips, Sherlock's expression eased.

"I've got to go. You've the day off tonight. It's already arranged. Remember your word, Molly."

Molly closed her eyes as Sherlock loomed, and she could have sworn she felt his cool lips pressed against her forehead before she was once again falling into unconsciousness, like a leaf knocked from a tree, drifting down into oblivion.


End file.
